Waiting for Nightfall
by WolfPaladin
Summary: Slightly edited version of the original story. A Knight who survived Arthas's ill-fated mission becomes a freelance warrior. Three years later, he runs into an old friend. Between BC and WoTLK. Slightly deviant from lore, so fair warning to Lore-fanatics
1. Chapter 1

**Waiting for Nightfall**

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><p><em>I don't own WoW. All NPCs mentioned belong to Blizzard. The Unknown Knight belongs to me. And unfortunately, my sanity belongs to Warcraft, so I can be called nuts. ^_^<em>

_Also, please review. This is my first fanfic, so I want to know how good (or how bad) it is.  
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><p>The waves lapped the shore, breaking incessantly, as the man watched the sun go down. He was waiting for nightfall, so he could end his watch. This would seem perfectly ordinary...except that he was in Northrend, him and some for or five thousand or so dwarves and humans and elves left behind, by the one man who they thought would never betray them - Prince Arthas.<p>

He was reminescing on his past, with a cold bitterness that seemed to rival the freezing air around him. He'd served Lordaeron for as long as he could remember, a Knight in the Lordaeron Army. He'd been there for some fourteen years in service, serving the King and, more recently, the Prince, with all the devotion he had. He remembered the high hopes with which they'd set out, and how mean and abject the conclusion of their journey - after all those battles, to die in a frozen hellhole, the Prince gone, the Dwarf commander Muradin dead, and no boats to go home, no supplies worth mentioning left.

_So much for loyalty_, he muttered to himself. He'd been unwilling to believe it when he saw the Prince run away after killing that infernal demon. But the sword the Prince had used - it had creeped him out. It was like a live thing in the Prince's hands, glowing with what he felt was an unending malevolence for all things. After he was dead, the Prince seemed to go nuts, talking to himself with that sadistic grin on his face. And then he'd simply run away into the storm that had picked up, without a word as to where or why he was going away. He'd argued it over with his comrades who'd seen it too, and they were just as puzzled as he, maybe even fearful. The thought that something existed that could make a Paladin go mad, that too valiant Uther's protege...

Or was he mad already? Indeed, the Knight had seen the uncouth behaviour of the Prince in Stratholme, killing hundreds of innocents, dismissing Lord Uther with a level of callousness and brutal comptempt he'd never expected to see from him, setting the venerable city on fire after he was done, and his obsession to kill that infernal demon, who the Knight believed was probably stringing them along all the time. He remembered the faces of the men and women he and the others had killed - begging for mercy, weeping for salvation, trying to protect their children from the blade - futilely. And when their homes were being burned, reiterating their cries of anguish heavenwards, as if the Light itself had forsaken them...and he believed in a way, it had. The stench of death, excrement, smoke and more significantly, despair and worse, the undead rising from the ground like the horrors of the nether made manifest...it had shaken many. The way the Prince behaved, no Paladin would have done what he had, not unless they were possessed, unthinkable as it was, or were insane. He'd rejected both as out of hand, but that nagging worry remained. The horrors of Stratholme had remained buried in his mind...until now.

Then that odd order when they landed in Northrend - no retreat until the demon is dead, at all costs. Initially, he'd had given no thought to it - just another pep talk for morale, but he soon started to see the horrible attrition rate they were undergoing, and just how far the Prince was willing to push on his as yet unknown goal. Even with the tech the dwarves had given them, the losses were enormous, simply because the Prince seemed driven to reach his goal, heedless of how many lives he lost to gain it. There were murmurs of resentment, fear and horror in the tents those nights, and many empty chairs in the mess halls every night after a battle. Indeed, the Knight also found his resolve weakening every day. It was almost as if the accursed continent was under the thrall of some unspeakable horror, just waiting beyond the thick mists that covered the land there, ready to lash out at the unwary and unprepared.

And after the Prince had run off, the thoroughly demoralised men had returned. Overcaptain Valonforth decided it wasn't safe there, with the storm picking up, so they'd decided to get the hell out with what few men had survived, toward the coast. A platoon - an Advance Party - had stayed behind, just in case the Prince came back, or they found Muradin, or it became too perilous for them. Only to find, on returning to the shore, that there was no way they could go back home. There were no boats, and no shipwrights among them to build even one that could survive the rough seas around the coast of Northrend. In effect, they were doomed to stay on there for Light knew how long.

Some time later, the'd received word fromtheir advance party - Muradin was dead. That pretty much settled the question as to who had to lead, the Alliance officer called Randelvarr. Valonforth had been suffering from the cold and the gangrene - this last bit of news was enough to finally kill him. He died a few hours later. And the advance party, under Flamebeard, had never returned, so it was assumed that they too had met their end. Only the runner who'd brought the news survived, and not for long - he died while out hunting for food some days later after being struck down by trolls.

They'd been stuck there for months, perhaps a year, and the encampment had slowly started growing into a town, as stragglers from all over began to drift in, each with ther own story of misery and abandonment. It was almost a small city now, with permanent houses, even a few children and the central headquarters doubling up as a Town Hall. They'd begun calling it Valgarde, after Valonforth. It almost felt like home - except that it wasn't. _'Home is where the heart is_' they said, and his heart was still in Lordaeron - home.

He looked at the sun. Still three hours to go, he thought wearily. As he miserably continued thinking in this strain, he thought he saw something on the seas...were those ships?

Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him. For they seemed **human** ships. It had been so long since he came to this light-forsaken land that he'd never actually entertained any hope of rescue. As he looked closely, he realised that it wasn't an illusion - those ships were **_real_**.

Hope surged into him. '_We can finally go home!_' he thought, a wave of joy coming to him. It intensified as the ships came closer to the shore. Then, remembering his duty, he pulled out his foghorn and blew three sharp bursts from it, raising the alert. That done, he raced down to the shore from his outpost, which overlooked the bay.

Evidently, evryone in the town had seen the ships, for the shore was crowded so much the Knight could have sworn the entire town was there. He also saw people looking out of their windows, those who couldn't make it to the shore. The ships halted in the bay and his eyes picked out a boat being put out with some twelve men from the largest ship. Seemed as if someone very important was coming ashore.

It was then that he got his first scrap of unease.

The ships were flying the colours of **Stormwind**. '_Stormwind? I didn't even know they had a navy worth mentioning...what could this mean? Why aren't there Lordaeron ships? There are** always** Lordaeron ships in every Alliance expedition...that's a rule of the Alliance...of the King! Somethings wrong..._' the Knight mused to himself. It seemed as if everyone around him was also coming to the same conclusion, for there were murmurs everywhere, similar to his train of thoughts in content.

He did not have very long to think, as the boat landed on the shore and the men fell out in order. One man, who was probably the leader, walked up to the waiting crowd and asked, "**Who's in charge here?**"

The half-elf ruler of Valgarde, Magistrate Randalvarr as everyone called him, came out of the crowd and said quietly, "**I am. This town is Valgarde. What is it you seek?**"

The man drew himself up and said, "**I am Vice-Admiral Keller, of the newly formed Valiance Expedition, and the Fleet Command for the Stormwind Navy. We were loking for a suitable settlement as a landing port so we can set up our operations in Northrend.**"

"**Hold on...we're under the jurisdiction of Lordaeron. Unless you've authorisation from King Terenas, you aren't setting up any base here!**" Randalvarr said with some asperity.

Keller smiled sadly, "**Ah yes, you don't know. But then again, you couldn't have. I have some very terrible news for you all**." He took a deep breath, as if to steel himself, and said, "**Lordaeron is no more. King Terenas is dead, killed by none other than his own Son, Arthas. His lands are in ruins, blighted by the plague of undeath, and Uther the Lightbringer has also been killed by Arthas. The undead control Tirisfal Glades now.**"

There was a collective gasp of horror from everyone on shore. The Knight saw all his hopes crash to the ground, his joy dissolve into shock, then horror and finally to despair. '_Lordaeron is no more...no more...no...more..._' the thought spun around in the Knights head over and over. Randalvarr fell to his knees in stunned silence at the news.

"**I am truly sorry. If you want, i will give you more details once we are somewhere...less exposed, yes?**" said the Admiral gently. The Magistrate nodded slowly, getting up. In a voice just inches from cracking he said, "**Very well. Everyone, back to your posts! Immediately! There will be a full ensemble tomorrow, in front of the Hall. Disperse!**"

As the crowd dispersed, the Knight slowly walked back to his post above the bay. '_Killed by none other than his own son...Arthas...Lands in ruins...Uther is dead...the Undead in Tirisfal Glades._' He thought incoherently. By the time he reached his post, the sun was touching the rim of the sea, in fact it was almost gone. The ships were being unloaded, men swarming onto the beach, setting up a temporary harbour, flares were being lit for light, some were moving outside the town and setting up a perimeter. But he was still numb. Then as his thoughts began to coalesce, one thing came foremost into his mind - '_My home is no more...the heart is gone..._'. His lips curled into a grimance of despair, fury and frustration. '_It's all gone...for all time..._.'

As the moon rose over the sea, there came a long drawn out scream, a scream of rage and anguish, from the guardpost above the bay. Only a the soft howl of a wolf answered it from somewhere inland. And the waves continued lapping the shore.


	2. Chapter 2

Waiting for Nightfall - Ch.02

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><p><em><strong>Three Years Later - Tanaris Desert<strong>_

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><p>It was yet another burning day in Gadgetzan. Fortunately, it was close to evening. But it was still sweltering enough that most would be wise to wear the lghtest possible clothing and equipment. But it seemed that there were some who defied this logic. Such as the human sitting in the Gadgetzan inn and sipping a flask of Volatile Rum.<p>

Why is this one so significant, one might ask. Well, other than the fact that he was wearing very heavy plate armor, had a pair of mean looking dual-wield swords on his back and had a face enough to scare away even the most hardened Bruiser in the town, there wasn't much to note about him. And in this town, you folowed only one rule - _mind your own damn business_.

The man had another characteristic, which only a few knew - he was among the ill-fated men on the traitor Prince Arthas' Northrend mission. A knight in the service. But no longer, for his armor was a mishmash of equipment from nearly every corner of Azeroth - and perhaps even Outland. And he clearly wasn't regular army. But from even a glance, one could tell he was not to be trifled with.

He'd left the regular army after he learned that there were very limited options for him after the Valiance Expedition came. He was given the choice of signing up in the Stormwind Army, which would have meant a transfer to Elwynn Forest for some time, where he'd get bored out of his life. Or he could stay on as an Auxilary in Valgarde, which he was loathe to do. Retirement presented few opportunities as well - the Scarlet Crusade and the Argent Dawn were the only ones recruiting former soldiers. And buying a house and settling down was just not his thing - he couldn't have afforded it even if he'd wanted to.

S he did the next best thing - he went solo. Putting up his papers, he travelled to Stormwind, where he set up a discreet bank account and dumped what little he had after the fall of Lordaeron. And became a Warrior-for-hire. That made him an adventurer (_which he thought was just a euphemistic reference for a mercenary_). And he'd been living like that for some years now, becoming considerably wealthy in that time. The gold he had now was more than he'd earned in all his years in the service. And it had over time also assuaged somewhat the pain of his loss. But it was mostly because of _her_ that he'd kept his sanity. _Her_, whom he'd not seen since three years after the fatal news had reahed him. Both had become mercen - sorry, adventurers. But he'd only met her intermittently in the time that had passed. He wondered when he'd see her next as he sipped his drink.

As he drank, a traveler came through the narrow doorway of the inn. Also an adventurer, but much more lithe than the the one at the table. Wearing a hooded cloak and carrying a staff that bristled with arcane magic. This one sidled over and sat down next to him, flagging down the goblin innkeeper to bring a shot over.

_Well, look who we have here,_ the man thought to himself in surprise, at seeing all of a sudden the very one who had been in his thoughts just a while ago. Keeping his compsure steady he said, quietly, "Hello, Gladia. Long time no see, eh?"

The newcomer turned to face him, startled. "Well, now this is a surprise. Long time no see indeed! What brings you here?" she asked, extending her hand.

He clasped it hard, arm-wrestler style, before letting it go. "Looking for something to do. Blood for my blades, money for me. But I should be asking you that question. Ladies shouldn't be on the front line." He smiled slightly, knowing that she got angry when told that.

"Still haven't changed, even after becoming a gentleman of fortune." She muttered crossly, but her green eyes showed happiness at seeing him. She pulled away her hood to reveal two long ears pointing straight up and a fair complexion - a Blood Elf. And a beautiful one, one could say, though the Warrior himself seldom noticed it. The goblin shoved a mug to her which she caught up and sipped. After a few moments, she asked "What? Don't feel like talking? Or does seeing me annoy you?"

"Yes to the first, no to the second. No point being angry at you - anger bounces off you like a rubber bullet on the skin of a kodo." He set his flask down. "You still didn't answer my question."

"The same as you. I heard that the loonies in Silithus were paying big money to anyone willing to come and fight those damned bugs in Ahn'Qiraj. So I came."

"Uh huh. Well, I'm headed there as well. And a fair warning - don't call the Cenarion Circle loonies - even if they are. Green bastards might just be unwilling to part with their gold." He grinned. "Want to go together?"

The goblin behind the counter piped up, "Huh - Alliance and Horde working together? That's something you don't see everyday."

Gladia snapped at him, "I'm **not** Horde!"

The goblin was surprised. "You're a Blood Elf. What else could you be?"

"I picked the Alliance. No way I'm going to Silvermoon as long as those idiots_ insist_ on calling Kael'Thas their '_Prince_'. Fel-addicted bastard..." she muttered furiously.

The Warrior (for that's what he was) patted her on the back, "Easy there! You'll gag on the rum. Not to mention it'll taste like crap if you're pissed."

She seemed to cool off at that. "Hmph. Guess you're right. But next time someone associates me with those degenerates and I'll polymorph them faster than they can blink! You were saying?"

"Yeah, I was suggesting we go together to Silithus. We can squash those damned bugs together. What do you say?"

She pretended to think over it. In truth, had he asked her to jump into the Maelstrom, she would have agreed. Both were very old friends, having fought together right since the time he signed up in the Lordaeron Army and all the way upto that ill-fated expedition's end. And it had been her who had kept him sane after they'd heard of the fall of Lordaeron, as he had kept her sane when she heard of the fall of Quel'Thelas some time later. Both of them were truly glad that they'd met so unexpectedly, though they'd never express it, and never expecting it to be in the middle of Tanaris Desert, of all the places!

"Sure. But no cheating on the gold!"

"It's a deal. Just like old times, eh?"

"Yeah, just like old times. We leave for Silithus tomorrow morning then."

The mage and the warrior clinked their mugs together. "Your health! And let those bugs beware!"

Outside, the wind blew softly as night fell upon Gadgetzan.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for the long wait...college didn't give me a chance at anything other than working at my desk. Enjoy! And please, read and review._**  
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><p><strong>The Next Day - Early Morning, Tanaris Desert<strong>

The warrior woke from his sleep much earlier than he anticipated - it was still dark outside. It wasn't unusual for him to wake up early - he had been habituated to it since his days in the Lordaeron Army. Wha was unusual was that he was woken up because of the staff being poked into his chest. "Get up already!" came an annoyed voice.

"Rrrrh...dammit Gladia. Fine, give me a minute." He snarled as he woke. Fortunately, he was still wearing his armor - he never removed his armor save to keep himself clean or if he was in one of the capitals (which was rare). He was still a bit groggy, but it cleared swiftly.

"Don't you start. We have to get going, or the Sun will be unbearable. Don't tell me you don't know that! And what about..."

"Yes, yes, I know. Mum. Now will you get out for a minute - I need to be reasonably presentable before I leave."

At that, she finally left. _What a handful_, he muttered to himself. He wondered if he might just be making a mistake...but then again, she'd always been like that. He shrugged it off and went about his work.

Twenty minutes later, they set off from Gadgetzan, but not before they retrieved their Hearthstones and some gold from the Bank - as the Goblins put it, "_Our state-of-the-art bank for the Horde and the Alliance! The best deals anywhere!_" The sun still hadn't risen - the Warrior checked his hourglass - another two hours to sunrise. He hoped they could reach the border to Un'Goro before that, for the day would become very hot just an hour after the sunrise. And while it was risky, the only way would be to go dangerously close to the Thistleshrub Valley. His last experience with the elementals there had been...most unpleasant. It had taken a lot of work to clear away the damned slime they spewed as they died, not to mention the repairs he'd needed afterwards. _Perhaps they'd be less aggressive early morning_, he hoped.

Gladia spoke up, "So, remind me - what are we going to Ahn'Qiraj for exactly?"

"Well, the Silithid are the bugs we see all over the place. Turns out a bunch of shifty freaks- apparently evolved forms of the Silithid, the Qiraji as they're called, have been rising up from the Ruins. They've developed some form of control over the Silithid, and the Cenarion Circle is worried that they might overrun Silithus and become a threat to much of this continent, so they put out recruitment posters all over the place, asking anybody who can fight to come and help them stop the bugs. They also compiled a list of their leaders and it's our job to take them down. In exchange, they're offering some gold and a choice of their finest weaponry. That's the gist of it, I guess."

"So if we just knock out the heads, the whole thing will fall. That's it?"

"That's what they say. There's also a bonus if we find out what theses damn things want anyway. Who do they actually answer to, political motivations, intelligence, anything curious, stuff like that. I'm merely going there for the bloodsport of it. There's rumoured to be a lot of treasure in there, so much so that even the bugs have it on themselves, so we could make a great deal of hard cash from this job."

She giggled, "Heh, that actually sounds kind of funny, I guess...try imagining a bug wearing jewellery."

The warrior chuckled. "Kind of. But it's a pain in the ass to wipe the damned blood from it."

"Money's worth, though. I know a lot of people who'd pay a great deal for odds and ends from the place, as little curios and stuff." She became serious, "But I'm guessing that's not the only reason you're going there, is it?"

The warrior slowed down his horse a little, "Why do you ask?"

She hesitated before replying, "Well, you've been...a bit _intense_, lately. Last night, when you were dead drunk, you were murmuring about how you were going to, well, do the worst you could to anything even remotely like the Nerubians...it was so unlike you. Vengeful, and a bit scary."

He slowed down a bit more, and eventually stopped. She also stopped, fearful that he might explode in rage. Instead, he merely looked up at the sky, which was slowly turning crimson-gold. Then he looked back at her through the slits in his helmet, before taking it off. She noted his eyes were...darkened? She couldn't tell.

He hesitated a bit before speaking in a low tone, "Remember what happened to Lordaeron? I still see the ruins in my nightmares even to this day. My home is gone, most of my friends are either dead or lost to the Scourge, or that damned Banshee bitch, who prides on defiling my homeland with her infernal minions. All because of that bastard - and his spider pals. A year ago, I went to Northrend...maybe just to seek oblivion, I must have been messed up in the head when I took the boat from Stormwind. I remember those damned bugs he sent out to get us at Valiance Keep in the Borean Tundra. I saw the dread citadel of Icecrown's gates from afar, all swarming with the damned things. Naxxramas, Dragonblight, Zul'Drak...they're all over the place. It was terrible."

"And I found out that...Ahn'Qiraj was where they'd all come from. That it was because of one of their...leaders, some fellow called Anub'Arak, that that bastard became the Lich King. I was amazed...stunned...and enraged." He shuddered slightly.

"I don't give a shit, really, what the Druids want, or what they're going to pay me. I just want to know, who were the sons of whores who created these things, so I can get at them, and tear them to shreds for their evil. And to one day, if I live that long, to drive my swords through that bastard Arthas's body. And to know if there is, some way, any way, to find peace...for once in my fel-damned life." His voice shook a bit at the end, but he kept control of himself.

She stayed silent, her expression was one of sadness. He shook himself mentally, Get a hold of yourself - you're making her upset.

She spoke up, slowly. "I know what you mean. Had I been you, I might have done the same. As I am."

"What do you mean?"

"Silvermoon. I too lost everything. After that, I was practically insane. Then came that bastard Lord Garithos - sniveling supremacist that he was. I thought, why not join Prince Kael'Thas? I almost did, the magical addiction was too great. I worked with him. Right until he met that blasted half-elf and the wretched Naga. I could tell he was going insane from his rage and anger and despair. He was a pitiable sight, a mirror to what I was becoming - I couldn't bear that.

I decided I would flee. And I did. I went to Stormwind, where I managed to survive for some time as a shopkeeper. I swore, by the Light - and I never once thought of breaking it - that someday, I would hunt down the one responsible for the filthy desecration of all I held holy. And that I would stay by my last true friend left - you - for as long as he lived. And I promise you, I will."

Her voice had a firmness to it and her eyes burned with a resolve that women seldom, and men never, could hope to attain.

He looked straight at her. "You're the only close friend I have left from those dark days. I trust you. And I hope you'll forgive me for sounding stupid."

"There is nothing to forgive, old friend. There is nothing to regret. Between friends, there are no regrets." She smiled.

He found himself also unwillingly smiling. "I agree. You still want to to do this?"

"You bet your hide I do! And I still want my share of the gold."

He felt his spirits rise. "Then let us be on our way! The wind is fair, and Ahn'Qiraj is ripe to fall!"

He once again felt the joy of working with old comrades-in-arms, a feeling he'd thought long-forgotten. Perhaps there was some peace to be found in an increasingly hostile world.

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><p>They reached Thistleshrub Valley just as the sun rose. The warrior was inwardly annoyed. He didn't want to fight any more of those damned plant elementals, and he hoped they could sneak by without any incident.<p>

Gladia instinctively held her wand in her right hand - charging herself up for a battle. "Think we can get by without a fight?"

"Let's hope so. I don't want to be here when...oh, shit! **Down!**"

She ducked just in time, her head onto her horse's mane. A blob of poison had nearly hit her. Almost immediately three of the elementals strode into view, one blocking the path behind them and two in front, blocking the way into the Crater.

"Feth! Gladia! You alright?"

She nodded, clearly angry. "Let's get these damned things!"

He nodded as well, pulling out his swords.

Gladia took the first shot, sending a bolt of fire towards the first of the elementals. It must have hit somewhere weak, for the thing roared in pain and fury, and made to charge at her, only to find that halfway there it was missing it's arms. A moment later, it's legs went out from underneath it. As it struggled to get up, the sound of two sharp blades penetrating its back was the last thing it heard before slipping into oblivion.

"One down!" He yelled.

The second elemental lasted no further than the previous one. Both the Warrior and the Mage had been at this partnership for so long that their movements and actions were almost reflexes rather than concious action. They'd fought countless battles before - this was just another of them.

The third elemental was the difficult one. It was the one that had spit the poison and was a bit faster than the ones they'd just killed. Try as they might, it kept dodging their attacks.

Unfortunately, Gladia suddenly tripped over a root. Her spell was interrupted and it had an instant backlash on her, stunning her momentarily. It was all the time the monster needed to spit a blob of mucus at her, trapping her to the ground. She moaned in pain. The warior was incensed at this.

"**Oii, over here, you little shit!**" He yelled, throwing a dagger at the back of it. It struck it's head, and it must have hit a critical spot for the monster wheeled around in fury, charging at him. As it came it spit a blob of poison at him again, which he dodged, but he was unprepared for the sudden movement of the monster as it cast something at his feet, it's hands glowing.

He suddenly felt roots growing up his boots, trapping him to the ground. The sudden growth put him oof-balance and he stumbled and fell. With a roar the monster charged at him. He stared at it in fury, and the moster was about to take a swipe at him when...

A sudden movement caught the warriors eye. Exactly a moment later, a _enormous_ flash of light, resembling a hammer crashed on the monster's head, knocking it away from him. A few moments later a guttural scream of rage came from the nearby cactus thicket and another flash of light shaped like a hammer flew straight at the monster's face.

When it connected it gave a dull sound like a gong being struck hard. The creature reeeled, swaying from side to side at the force of the blow, so powerful it must have been. A Draenei strode out from the thicket, wielding a hammer and shield and dressed in heavy plate that glowed like gold in the sunlight - a Paladin! The Draenei charged at the creature and knocked it down with his shield, smashing his hammer into it's head and turning it into a pulpy mass as it fell. _Dead_.

That done, the Draenei gave a once over to the dead monster, then ran to the Warrior. "By the Light, I think I was just in time. Are you hurt?"

The warrior shook his head, "Just shaken is all. See to the girl first."

The Draenei looked in the direction of his outstretched finger. "Very well. Hold right here."

The Paladin strode over to Gladia and cast some spell that cleared away the mucus. He then picked her up gently and brought her over to the Warrior, who had by then staggered to a dead tree and was resting under it, it's branches offering some shade, as the sun had risen and the day was slowly growing warm.

"Hmm...she's hurt a bit. Unconscious. And there's poison in her. Wait, I have just the thing." So saying the Paladin reached into his bag hanging at his side - the Warrior noted it was the huge bag he'd seen being sold in Shattrath by that blood elf chick with the crazy dog - and pulled out a Libram, which he opened to a particular page and began to read out something in a incantation-like form. A pillar of light eveloped Gladia, washing away the poison and healing her wounds, which she'd taken when the monster had spit the mucous on her. The Paladin waved his hand over her and the spell cleared. He did the same for the warrior as well.

Gladia woke up. "Rrrh...what the hell...what happened?" She mumbled groggily.

"You tripped, fell, got plant ooze on you and fainted. This Paladin just healed you and the monsters are dead." The Warrior said, glad that she was alright.

She rubbed her eyes a bit. That was when the Paladin was a bit staggered. "A...Blood Elf?"

That woke her up completely. "NO! Dammit, how many times do I have to say it? You little..." And she set off with a stream of invective in Thalassian.

The Warrior grinned. "Yep, she's just fine. She's a High Elf officially. And oh, thanks for the assist. We were in really deep shit."

The Paladin nodded. "You're welcome." To Gladia, he bowed low, his head coming right upto her midsection, "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to affront your sensiblities."

She was soothed by that. To anyone, it would have been a comical sight - a Draenei who towered over them by almost a foot bowing so low. She nodded, a bit embarassed, "It's alright. I get that a lot. I'm sorry for ranting at you, I'm just a little shaken..."

He nodded understandingly, standing up straight again. "I perfectly understand. But by Velen's beard, what are you people doing in this area? It's extremely dangerous here..."

_Velen's beard_...wait, the Warrior knew he'd heard that somewhere.

"There's only one guy who uses that expression, as far as I know." Said the Warrior slowly, a smile creeping across his face. He couldn't see the Paladin's head under the helmet, but he could guess who he was. "Kyras?"

The Paladin's head snapped back to see him. He removed his helmet to peer closely at the Warrior. The Warrior did the same. Kyras grinned in surprise. "**You! Damnation!** Where have you been! Now this is a surprise!"

Kyras was a Paladin of the Hand of Argus. He'd been serving along with Justinius the Harbinger on the Stair of Destiny in Hellfire Peninsula when the Warrior, then new to Outland, had come thorough the Portal. He'd been his guide throughout his stay in Outland and they had become fast friends. He'd returned to Azeroth some time ago to wrok for the Azerothian branch of the Hand of Argus. In appearance, he looked remarkably tough, with a hulking physique and five tendrils snaking out from his jaw and a hairless, but scarred, face with glowing blue eyes. However, the Warrior knew, there were few others on Azeroth who could match him in his compassion for all living beings - no matter their affiliation - as well as his ability to drink more than anyone could bear without getting stoned even in the slightest.

"Oh, you know...questing for money for my bread and cheese and running off with the daughters of the Blood Elves." He replied, slapping the Paladin on his shoulder.

"Liar," said the Paladin affably. "This your friend you were speaking of?" indicating Gladia with his hand.

Gladia was surprised. "He talked about me?"

Kyras grinned, "All the time. Some of the things he said were most complimentary. I see he wasn't exaggerating. Especially about..."

The Warrior waved his hands frantically. "No no no, don't tell her any of that. I beg you!"

"Heh, alright old friend."

Gladia was annoyed. "What? What did he say?"

"Not my secret to tell. Ask him!"

She turned on the warrior, hitting him with her fists on his chest like a little girl, "Tell me! I want to know what!"

"Not now, maybe later..."

"I want to know now!** Tell me, damn you!**"

A small growl from the thickets stopped them all.

Kyras frowned. "Damn. Looks like some of them want to get busy. Hate to break up your moment but we'd better get going."

The warrior nodded, "Yeah, no shit."

All of them mounted up - Kyras had hidden his Elekk nearby - and they rode off into the path to Un'Goro. they were in the crater half-an-hour later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mid-Afternoon - Un'Goro Crater**

* * *

><p>"Is it just me - because I get the feeling I'm being watched." Gladia murmured nervously.<p>

The Warrior nodded slightly, "Yeah, I know what you mean. Getting this eerie feeling that someone's watching me."

Kyras looked around a bit, slowly scanning the undergrowth. "Apart from a bunch of animals, I sense nothing. Raptors mostly. And a few silithid. Some moss giants as well. All mostly non-agressive - well, as long as we stay out of their territory."

The warrior looked at him quizzically, "How do you know that?"

Kyras coloured slightly. "Before I became a Paladin, I was a...hunter in Nagrand. My entire family was of this line. I became a Paladin only some time ago."

"And _how_ long ago?"

"Uh, about a hundred years. Maybe a little more?"

Gladia turned around fully. "How old are you, _really_?"

The Paladin grinned. "You won't believe it if I tell you. So no point in saying it."

"Let's hear it for the record._ How old_?"

Kyras hesitated. "Um...okay. I was a boy of ten or twelve when we escaped from Argus - that's our homeworld. And that was roughly when the Legion..._got reinforced_, you could say. So that makes, uh...about twenty-five millennia? Yeah. Just about that much."

The Warrior and Gladia simply stopped moving, reigning in their mounts. And stared at Kyras, not even blinking. The Warrior was the first to catch his tongue. "_You're kidding, right?_"

The Draenei sighed. "See, I told you you wouldn't believe it. It's the truth, though."

"Of course it's hard to believe. **Twenty-Five Fething Millenia?** Who the heck lives that long?" Gladia wailed.

"Uh, Velen does. And that mad dog Archimonde does, so does that bastard Kil'jaeden. We're all almost the same, actually. Just that the two scallywags I mentioned are daemonic, while we're followers of the Naaru. But I'm serious about the age. Really!"

Slowly, both the warrior and mage turned around and slowly started riding again. They were still jolted by the age of this guy. _Wait, if he's that old, what about the rest of them?_ The Warrior shivered involuntarily._ Means that girl I was flirting with in Shattrath could have been thrice as old as my mother. Eeep!_ It made the Night Elves look like upstarts, whenever they claimed their age-old wisodm of a long life...no wonder the Draenei were so hard to provoke. They hardly ever got angry._ Guess being so old gives you a diferent view on life._

"So..." the warrior spoke up, trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation. "A guy as old as you must have seen some interesting stuff, right?"

"Kind of. For most of that time mentioned, I was sleeping. Not literally though. Think of it like the emerald dream so many of the druids here have, minus the dream - just sleep. In a frozen cell. Helps to preserve the body."

"I don't get it."

"Ah well, come to the Exodar sometime. Or better yet, just go to Tempest Keep in Netherstorm and see the sleep pods in there. I'll explain it there. Almost all the Draenei alive today have been through this sleep, so some might be able to explain it better."

"Oh alright...wait, you said _almost_?"

"Yeah. Not all of us have seen Argus. Some of us were born on the ship we escaped on, some were born on Draenor as well, some elsewhere. What did you think?"

The Warrior turned away, slightly flushed. "No, that's not what I meant..."

Gladia, ever the loudmouth, said, "He didn't think you're the types to raise kids and all."

_You idiot_, he muttered under his breath.

Kyras looked slightly offended, but amused as well. "Might look that way. But don't you get any ideas! I do have a wife and kids, but I don't make it a point to go around blathering about them...like you humans seem so fond of doing."

"Takes all kinds of people to make the universe, eh?"

Kyras grinned. "First few words of _wisdom_ coming from your mouth! That's highly unusual. Perhaps Gladia's presence is causing you to become more cultured, hmm?" he sadi, winking at the elf, who smiled.

_Why do I feel so embarassed because of what he said?_ The warrior thought, a twinge of red coming to his face. "You prick." He muttered to Kyras, hoping to hide his red face, as well as an unwilling grin.

They'd been traversing along the edges of the crater as this conversation had been going on, close to the neutral settlement in Un'Goro Crater, a place titled Marshal's Refuge. The Warrior hoped to get a few hours rest before pusing on to Silithus, and also get a few supplies.

* * *

><p>As they approached the camp, a hail went out from the Goblin standing on the ridge overlooking their path. "<strong>Who goes there?<strong>"

"**Travelers, we're Alliance. We ask that we be permitted to rest for a few hours before we head onwards.**" The Warrior shouted back.

"**Fair enough. Proceed to the camp.**"

They entered the camp. To call it a hamlet would have been an overstatement, since there was nothing but a few torn and threadbare tents, with some men (and women) who looked more like explorers and miners than soldiers, in them. However there was a lean to in front of a cave entrance, which glowed brightly with multicoloured crystals, in which there was a human poring over a map and, notably, arguing with a woman over which was the best place to go digging for artifacts.

"_I still say the Fire Plume Ridge is the place to go. Plus, Ringo went there and hasn't come back yet. Shouldn't we go and check it out - it might be fun too!_" The man said.

"_Yeah, right. Fire elementals might be your idea of fun, not mine. We should check out the odd pylons nearby. Safe, and interesting. Unlike the ridge!_" The woman shot back.

They continued in this vein, which Kyras found terribly interesting as he kept staring at them curiously. Gladia sauntered off to a Dwarf who looked like he was a vendor, while the Warrior attempted to find out something about the road into Silthus and about the region in general. To this effect, he went to a man dressed in green and wielding a hammer, who looked pretty bored.

"You don't seem like any ordinary traveler...adventurer or something?" Asked the green-clothed one.

"Yeah. You seem like you know whats going down around here. Any thing of note?"

"Pffft...yeah, right. Other than the fact that we're fething _stuck here_? Pardon me, that was an uncontrollable response. I'm just a little out of sorts. You're not the only ones who have been asking me that question. A _lot_ of men and women like you have passed through here, asking similar questions. The large trafic is one thing. Guess you're also headed to Silthus, eh? Good luck with the bugs, they're vicious - if you want a sample, go south of this crater, you'll see some of them there. What else? About the road there? Watch out for the raptors and bog beasts, they're the only thing that could cause trouble. It couldn't hurt to carry some vials of repellant though, the mosquitoes in that area are simply maddening. What were the types who went there, eh? Yeah they were of all sorts. Mostly Night Elves and Orcs, couple of Tauren too, some Blood Elves and Dwarves - all riflemen, I noted - and an occasional Troll or Forsaken - _man_ those guys creep me out. A few High Elves and Gnomes went as well. Yesterday there were some fifty odd Draenei who dropped by. Man, the girls in that group looked awesome...too bad I couldn't ask them for their names or anything. Little else I know, though. Better watch yourselves if you're headed there, can't be too careful. Oh and one more thing, there was an enormous arms shipment to that area a few days ago, bearing the seal of Stormwind on the crates, so I guess it's really bad out there."

The warrior asked a few other questions, but it was obvious that the man knew little else after some time. He sauntered off looking for Gladia, when he was hailed by an unfamiliar voice. "You. Yes, you over there. I couldn't help but overhear your talk with that ne'er do well. Mind if I talk to ye?"

Turning around, he saw a Dwarf come over to him. This dwarf looked remarkable in his appearance, which could be attributed to the fact that he had the biggest rifle the warrior had_ ever_ seen, with a bayonet of thorium attached to the barrel. There was also a wrench hanging from his belt, and he wore some strange glowing goggles over his eyes, whose lenses kept twirling every now and then. With a long beard _(long for a dwarf, anyhow - it reached almost to his feet_) and jet black hair covered in a mantle with a heavy cloak, he cut a impressive figure. This was oddly complemented with a still-burning cigar protruding from his mouth, it's end hidden in the moustache where he'd tucked it in.

"Headed to Ahn'Qiraj?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it's about time some one who looks like they could cause some carnage showed up. Ah, I'm forgetting my manners - name's Tarkus, of the 4th Ironforge Rifle Company, attached to Legion VII."

"Legion VII? What are they doing here?"

"Fresh off the ships, eh? Sit down, I'll tell you." With that, the dwarf waddled over to a wide flat rock where he sat down. The warrior, after a moment's hesitation, followed suit. The dwarf pulled off his rifle and put it butt-downwards on the ground, leaning on it slightly, while pushing his goggles up into his hair. The dwarf offered him a cigar and his brandy flask, the warrior refusing the smokes but taking a swig from the flask - it was the finest bourbon the warrior had tasted. He handed the flask back to the dwarf, who appreciatively nodded while slipping it back into his breastpocket.

"Right. So...what's the legion doing here, ye ask? Well, in a rare display of solidarity, the orcs suggested the formation of a united front to stop the bloomin' bugs from ever leaving Silithus alive. They called it the Might of Kailmdor. We're the Alliance representation of it, and they was allowin' freelancers in too, so we came up. They sent in the Ko'Kron, so things are looking good - well, for me anyhow."

"How come it's good?"

"If they're deploying the best there is to fight in some light-forsaken desert, that means it's goin' to be one _nether _ of a fight. That's what I'm looking fer. Plus the pay is good, the Cenarion Circle's offering some pretty nice dibs for the taking, and lots of fightin' and winning t'do."

The warrior smiled and shook his head._ Dwarves!_ he thought to himself.

"Mind if I come along with ye? I know the guys in Cenarion Hold, so I could get ye some mighty comfortable beds, which you're going to be real glad of once you get there. I noted there's a goat from the great dark and one of those highborne dainties with ye. Plus, I got some jugs of bourbon to give away - you seem like the one to get it, since ye know the value of good taste, I can tell."

The warrior looked at him quizzically...before he realised what he meant, breaking out into a unwilling grin at the irreverent description. "You're pretty sharp at seeing things."

"I hav'ta be. I'm a marksman for my unit - isn't nice if I don't see things at once."

"Thanks for the bourbon - best I've had in a while." A thought struck the Warrior just then. "Why'd you call that chap I was talking to a good for nothing?"

The dwarf grinned, pulling at his cigar a little and shaking off some ash from it. "How'd ya think these blokes who set up camp here _got lost_? Him and his idiot pal in red o'er there," indicating with his finger to another man sitting opposite to the green clothed one, "led 'em off the track with their bickering. Next thing they know, a bunch of bog-beasts ambush their caravan, and a'int _that_ a pretty sight. They ended up here, waiting for rescue, or to figure another way out. No luck, since the idiots never can see eye to eye." He writhed briefly in silent laughter. The warrior also found it slightly amusing, considering the two men looked almost exactly alike, with the same hammers and dress-sense.

* * *

><p>Gladia, in the mean-time, had been gathering some reagents for her spells. As she bought them, she pondered over her relations with the Warrior. <em>Best friends, confidantes, each other's devil's advocate.<em> But she definitely felt a _lot more_ than close comradeship with the Warrior. Or was it simply a delusional thought, brought about by the simple fact that she had few friends left who could be called that - most of them were Blood Elves now, _her enemies_. Several times over the past three years, she had thought she would finally tell him about her...feelings towards him, but had never been able to, either due to work, or conflict, or pure nervousness over what he might or mightn't say to her.

She mentally hit herself._ Damn it all - there were more important things to be done! This wasn't the time to go all emotional, not with what she felt was a virtual suicide mission_. She'd heard stories about the dread city in the shifting sands - none of them pleasant. She thought there was a good chance none of them might survive this. Not to mention the Cenarion Circle druid who'd recruited her had warningly told her of the ferocity of the creatures she'd be facing off against. He'd warned her that it took a very strong will to even survive there. She'd felt real confident then - she wasn't feeling so confident now.

_Isn't that all the more reason you should come out with your feelings to him?_ She'd resisted the overwhelming urge to kiss him while he lay snoozing after passing out drunk in Gadgetzan the night before, feeling it was unbecoming of her otherwise controlled nature - aw, nether, who was she fooling? She'd been scared to do it._ Childishness..._

She sighed. It was a confusing, maddening issue. With some effort, she sealed away her thoughts, resolving to deal with the problem later, as she had done countless times before. Knowing that it would nag her again when she was alone, or looking at him without his knowledge. As she paid for her goods, she idly wondered what Kyras knew - what he'd been told by the Warrior during his time in Outland.

* * *

><p>Kyras had been making a complete fool of himself. While he knew the Common language, it was by no means a perfect command. With the result that he had some of the men he questioned about the way ahead rolling over in laughter or staring at him in fury, having misunderstood his talk. One man even presumed he was calling him a homosexual, to which Kyras had hung his head in mortification and shame, apologising and explaining that he hadn't meant it that way - he'd been asking for directions.<p>

_By the Naaru, what an odd race! Of all the races I've seen, the ones on Azeroth are the most intriguing by far - and the most incomprhensible. Truly worth the effort to save - bless the Naaru for their wisdom in guiding us here._ He sauntered out, noting that the Warrior was in conversation with a dwarf, while the Mage was buying something - the look on her face indicated her thoughts were on a _very_ different plane however. Kyras mused to himself - _the Warrior certainly has a most interesting friend. And from what he'd told him, also a being worthy of respect, admiration and..._...

He suddenly tripped over an unseen root, his arms flailing wildly. Thankfully, his tail balanced him out, so he landed on his hooves again. Exhaling in relief, he looked about on the ground to see what had tripped him up, then went to his Elekk to feed it and water it, suddenly remembering that the beast's lunchtime was nearly due. He didn't notice that half the of the camp's inhabitants were suppressing their smiles at the ludicrous spectacle he'd made of losing his balance.

* * *

><p>They left the camp some fifteen minutes later. The warrior made the introductions - Kyras had been an ass again, staring at the dwarf's rifle unceasingly before the warrior shoved him to bring him to reality. Gladia soon fell into banal chitchat with the dwarf, with the marksman asking questions about her experience in battle <em>(the Warrior had forewarned him to not refer to Blood Elves<em>) and telling her of his times in the Rifle Company he was in. Apart from a few unexpected run-ins with some straying raptors, they exited the crater with three hours to nightfall.


	5. Chapter 5

**The entry-way to Silithus - Three hours before nightfall**

* * *

><p>Stale and dead.<p>

That was what the Warrior decided his impression of Silithus was. Upon entering it, the change in the land had been nothing short of stupefying. Un'Goro was lush, filled to the brim with life and overflowing with vitality. Even as they had ascended the steep walls of the crater, none had even imagined that the landscape on the other side of that range of hills could be so drastically different. They arrived at Valor's Rest as they emerged from the crater, where the Cenarion Circle had a presence, and where they stocked up on their water, for their supplies were running low and the day was still very hot.

As they marched on from this camp, they noted that the ones there had almost a haunted look, a vestige of fatigue - and, it seemed,_ fear_ as well. The Warrior wondered, _what could inspire fear in druids, the near-fearless ones of nature?_

They were about to find out. And it was precede by a drastic change in landscape they could scarcely have concieved, even in their dreams. A barren wasteland, stretching on endlessly until it merged with the horizon, with a low range of cliffs visible here and there. They were walking along a path that winded between two ranges of these low, dun-coloured hills.

But the change, while unexpected, was also extremely unpleasant, the Warrior felt. Even in the desolate wastes of Tanaris, there was something living - a breath of life, no matter how faint, the winds blowing with the stories and hopes of life of all things, the faint murmurs from the Caverns of Time and the sounds of endless battle from the troll ruins of Zul'Farrak.

Here, there was almost _nothing_. The land seemed...deadened. Even the wind was slow, sluggish and lifeless. The air had an oppressive quality to it - leaden with shattered hopes and a sort of latent horror, it seemed to the Warrior. A deep silence, deeper than any the Warrior had ever experienced, lay like an oppressive shroud over this place..._an accursed land_, the Warrior's thoughts spoke to him unbidden. He was greatly unsettled - it reminded him of a place which had changed his nature irrevocably. Even what little life there seemed to be of the same mould of numbed existence - the beasts simply skittering away from all who passed, instead of putting up a fight like they usually would have.

The sky was a warm ochre-red, but utterly alien. Far away, near the horizon, one could discern a swarming mass..._something_ like clouds, but swirling and twisting impertubably and in a myriad different directions every second glance. The small dirt path they were following was dotted with skulls and bones at intervals, some known, most of them not. At times, they crossed strange pillar-like objects sticking out of the sands, their origins unknown, but horrifyingly alien and loathsome in appearance. The overall impression was of some ancient civilisation, gone and forgotten, but a closer inspection showed the origins of the makers - the Qiraji themselves. Or Azj'Aqir, as they were known by the Trolls. This was one civilisation that was _not_ missed, it would seem.

"My word, it certainly isn't a very pleasant region." Kyras murmured, in a massive understatement.

Gladia merely shivered, in spite of the immense heat in the region, and sank a bit lower on her steed. Tarkus seemed unsettled, though he tried vainly to hide it. Even the mounts seemed ill at ease, as if they's sensed something...some danger unknown. Indeed, the whole place radiated an aura of menace, of some abnormal horror lying in wait beyond the grasp of mere mortals such as they...even if Kyras was technically immortal.

They trudged along in single file, slowly, making their way towards the only permanent base in the region, now visible on the horizon, towering up above the sands - the Cenarion Hold. It dimly appeared out of the haze of heat, a refuge it seemed to the weary and frightened travelers.

Suddenly, Tarkus's ram bucked violently, letting out a high note of pure terror. As he attempted to control his mount, Kyras's Elekk also let out a dissonant note of fear, swinging it's head about violently. It set off the horses too, which bucked and shied. The Warrior looked about in consternation, searching for the source of the unease, when he spotted it...a pile of dimly glowing dust lying near the path. The aura of foreboding returned witha vengeance - it was as if the dust was radiating malefic energy, aimed straight at them. As he saw it, the Warrior was simply thrown from his horse, which then kept bucking in terror, foaming at the bridle. A look in the horse's eye was enough - it was in stark terror.

"_What the nether is it with the mounts? **Feth! Arrgh!**_" Tarkus yelled as he was thrown off his mount, the ram now in the last extremity of mortal terror. He quickly scrambled up and caught his ram by the bridle, putting a hand over it's eyes, which seemed to calm it somewhat, but it was still trembling all over. The others followed suit, Gladia by then was white in the face, her eyes glimmering with fear. "Light help us all..." she muttered, while her hands went over her horses eyes, which calmed somewhat. Kyras dismounted swiftly, putting a blinker over his Elekk, and ran toward the pile of dust, the Warrior in tow. Quickly, they heaped sand all over the glowing pile, burying it as fast as they could.

The effect on the steeds was remarkable. Immediately, they calmed down completely, and were as docile as ever, though one could see the terror had still not left their eyes. The Warrior frowned. "It's the queerest thing I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of queer things. What the feth was that dust?"

"I don't know, and something tells me it's better not to know." Gladia said, her voice shaking slightly. "Let's just get to the Hold - I...I d-don't want to stay here a moment l-longer than necessary."

No one could argue with that kind of statement. Wordlessly, everyone mounted up again and started off to the Hold. Fortunately for them, they encountered no further disturbances on their way.

But behind them, the mound which they had dug slowly slipped off, revealing the dust again, waiting for the next unlucky one to pass it by. It seemed..._almost living._

* * *

><p><strong>Cenarion Hold - twenty minutes later<strong>

The change in atmosphere was almost overwhelming. They had approached the Hold slowly, and a little way off from it, they could see that a large number of tents had been set up around the hold - which was on a low hill, with a multitude of flags, of all the factions flying from them - the Alliance on one side, the Horde on the other. The Warrior observed, curiously, that the tents were all in a perfect circle around the hold, as if there was some invisible boundary. As they crossed into the lines of the tents, a remarkable change came over the traveling group. The steeds suddenly became a lot more calm, cheerful even, and all of them in the group suddenly felt a lot more peaceful, the grim foreboding having disappeared like a mist in the sunlight. It was almost as if there was a bubble of peace in that desolate land.

"Well...tha' was -_ unexpected_, t'say the least." Tarkus muttered.

_No kidding,_ the Warrior thought.

Upon their arrival, a watching Cenarion Guard - a Tauren - perked up and blew a short, sharp whistle, while motioning them to stay put. A few moments later, a night elf, a male druid, walked up and gave them the once over, his gaze lingering a little longer on Gladia _(the Warrior could note the faint expression of distaste on his face_) before saying, "Greetings, travelers. I am Windcaller Caladon, of the Cenarion Circle. I presume you are here for the Ahn'Qiraj effort, are you not?"

Everyone nodded. Tarkus spoke up first, "Yeh, that'd be about the only reason any bloke woulda' come here. Anyone else is either stupid or suicidal. Eh, no offence." He added the last part with some haste, on seeing the elf's face darken slightly. "If you'll follow me, " said Caladon, recovering his ruffled composure, "the Innkeeper will register you and file in your names for the formations." He turned around and began to walk, the others following. The Warrior shot a withering glare at Tarkus, who shrugged. _Not my fault if they're so touchy-feely about stuff,_ he seemed to be saying.

Gladia muttered, "Arrogant prick, he seemed. The way he looked at me..."

"That's just because of who you are, or rather, what he thinks you are. Don't let it get to you. You know how the night elves are." The Warrior cautioned. She merely looked away, in some disgust.

_Well, at least everyone seems to be back to normal_, thought the Warrior. He wondered what the deuce was the problem outside the Hold's influence '_bubble_' - he had no other term for it. He resolved to ask someone about it as soon as he could.

Mercifully, they got a fairly good accomodation- in no small part due to Tarkus, who knew the Innkeeper, perhaps a bit more _intimately_ than the Warrior cared to know about. A lot of mercenaries had shown up, wanting a piece of the treasure that the Cenarion Circle was offering for the job. There were not as many as they'd have liked, but to the Warrior's estimate, it was enough. He counted some forty or fifty of both the Alliance and the Horde, and also noted that some very mean-looking (_and undoubtedly high-ranking_) senior military figure-types were also there. All in all, there were some hundred and twenty or more fighters in the area, which he felt was just about enough to take a ruined citadel. Especially against a army of mostly insects.

They'd also met a rather eccentric rifleman called Torrig, with whom Tarkus was having a long chat. Gladia said she needed tor rest, and headed off to her quarters. Kyras walked up to the highest point in the hold, sat himself down, and went into a meditative state. That left the Warrior, who decided to get something to fill the gaping void in his belly first, before he did anything else.

It was thus that he was sitting in a relatively crowded mess hall, where, in a rare display of cooperation, Alliance and Horde fighters were sitting and eating their meals, some of them even talking to each other. The Warrior had finished up his meal, and was nursing a glass of Volatile Rum, when someone tapped his shoulder. "Mind if I join you?" asked a deep, sonorous voice. He looked behind him to see a Tauren with a mug of some steaming liquid standing there. The Warrior nodded, and the Tauren quietly sat down near him. A few moments later, the he spoke up, "I'm Bor. Bor Wildmane, of the Cenarion Circle. I hope I'm not troubling you."

"Not at all. In fact, I've been meaning to speak to someone who's in the know of things - _you_ certainly seem to be one." the Warrior said, a little wary. Though he didn't have anything against the Horde, he was, like most humans, naturally a bit on the defensive at seeing a creature so much larger than himself. _Then again_, he reminded himself, _the Tauren are known to be really gentle_. "I'd be grateful if someone could answer a few questions."

Bor nodded as he took a swig from his mug - it smelled faintly like some sort of cabbage soup. "I'd be happy to answer. No doubt, you want to know why Silithus seems so.._.terrifying_, isn't it? Perhaps your mounts have been behaving erratically, or you've heard voices in your head?"

The Warrior was somewhat staggered, surprised at the accuracy of the statement. "Well, yeah. The horse have been twitchy since we got here. I haven't heard any voices in my head, but we did see something...a-a sort of glowing dust. It made them go mad with fear. What the nether is going on?"

Bor nodded gravely. "A frequent refrain. Well, let me start with the basic parts. I'm sure you know about Ahn'Qiraj's history. About the War of the Shifting Sands. Well, did they ever tell you who was actually driving the Qiraji from within?"

The Warrior thought for a bit. "I heard it was some big bug called Rajaxx. And a few others besides."

Bor shook his massive head slowly. "Rajaxx was leading them on the field, yes. But it was another who was guiding him. A more...malevolent foe. Or so it has begun to emerge."

"Some creature worse than the Qiraji and Silithid? Hard to imagine that." The Warrior said, a little skeptically.

"Well, it may seem so to you, human. But over the past few months, we of the Circle have observed some very disturbing phenomena. Why, just a few weeks before we began to mass the adventurers you see here, there was a little...incident with the Commander's wife, Natlia Mar'alith. She went violently insane, going down to a Silthid Hive. When a team of volunteers was sent out to kill her, she fought like one possessed. As she died, she screamed a name...a name which many of us believed long forgotten." Bor seemed to shudder involuntarily, and this was all the more observable as even the table shook as the Tauren trembled.

"There have been other signs too. Some men have said to have heard voices, prophesying their doom. Obelisks have been growing out of the sands. A strange compound, which we have called Silithyst, has begun to erupt out of vents in the desert - prolonged exposure to it can drive you insane. Yes, the Silithyst was what you saw while coming here. We have attempted to determine it's properties, but with limted success. And after poor Natlia's unfortunate demise, no one is willing to examine it too closely.

The Silithid have become more and more aggressive over the days. Why, to look no further, " he indicated with his huge furry paw towards the window, from which one could see the swarming cloudlike form that hovered some miles away, "that began. And since then, there have been relentless attacks against the Hold, as well as against any who approach too close to the gates of the dread city o'er yonder." He paused as he drained some more from his mug.

The Warrior looked outside at the swarm, and noted it was just a few minutes to moonrise. The day was fading.

The Warrior, who was most intrigued by this story, leaned forward. "What else?"

"In the time since the Commander Mar'alith's wife went mad and died, the very atmosphere of Ahn'Qiraj, indeed - of all Silithus, has changed. People now report an oppressive aura in the region, as you no doubt have already felt. The Cenarion Hold is in more ways than one, the only spot of sanity left in Silithus. Anybody outside is either of very strong nerve, or has already gone mad and is either dead or a servant of..." he suddenly cut himself off, as if he had said too much.

The Warrior prodded him a bit with his hand. "Come on, servant of what? Of whom?"

"I..." Bor hesitated. "I...don't think I should tell you. It's very name is an omen of doom."

"Tell me anyhow. I've seen worse, trust me."

"Perhaps, perhaps not, human. Very well...the name, it...it is..._C'Thun_. There, I've said it..._C'Thun. The unspeakable one who slumbers_." At this, Bor merely looked down at his mug, before swinging the rest of it down his throat.

As he said this, this moon rose from beyond the horizon. Night had fallen. And the Warrior now knew what drove the creatures.

What he wouldn't know, was how profound the effect this knowledge would have, not just on the events yet to come, but also, on his whole life. And the moon now shone steadily over a darkening Silithus, where the silence was deeper than any silence ever known.

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><p><strong><em>Sorry for the wait. Been drained of ideas lately. And there's been a spell of civic unrest, so things are a little hairy.<em>**

**_Also, please do review. I can't write unless I know what people are thinking of it. Not to mention pointing out any errors I've made or providing suggestions._**

**_And if I'm making my characters stereotypical, or I'm making the story stupid and boring, please do point it out so that I can make the necessary adjustments._**

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><p><strong>Now, press that little button titled "<em><span>Review<span>_" right here and let me know what you think!  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

The Warrior was vexed.

He was staring out at the moon, which was irritatingly dim thanks to the dust swirls and bug-swarms blocking up the sky. But it wasn't the moon vexing him - it was what that Tauren in the Tavern had told him. After the Tauren had revealed the name, the Warrior felt deflated._ C'Thun? It sounded more like some stupid concotion that a child would make._ It was an anticlimax, he thought, to what he'd been expecting.

The Warrior had thought he'd probably mention a Dragon Aspect, or one of the Troll Loas, or a hydra or something that was documented, for Light's sake. But C'Thun? He was pretty sure he'd never heard the name - not even remotely. He said so to the Tauren, with incredulity spilling out at every word.

The reaction had been most unusual. The Tauren had merely shuddered, and said something about "_foolish young ones not knowing the peril_." On pressing him, the Tauren bluntly refused to elaborate any more, save for saying that it was something called an Old God, and that it was madness and evil incarnate - to see it was to die. More than that he wouldn't say and had merely drunk the last of his soup and crawled away - or trotted away, given that he had hooves.

The Warrior had sat there for an hour, drinking some of the stuff Tarkus had given him, cudgelling his brains for any reference to the monster Bor Wildmane had described. Unable to think of anything, he decided to go and ask around a bit. The reactions had been varied. Druids were absolutely unhelpful (_he felt they were deliberately refusing to speak of it_), Warlocks had no real clue, save for the fact that their demon pets were extremely unsettled - even more so than usual. The only real information came from the Shamans, who said that they sensed that the Elemental Spirits were greatly disturbed in the Silithus region -_ like they were afraid of the place_. But no matter who he asked, none knew (_or claimed not to know_) anything about the creature Bor had talked so fearfully about.

And after all that, which had taken him a good three hours (_and nothing gained, the Warrior thought miserably_), here he was, standing on the highest point in the Cenarion Hold, looking out over the desert. He tore his gaze away from the moon and looked out southward, where a dulled blurry shape could be seen - he figured those were the Walls of Ahn'Qiraj. As he stared out at it, he wondered - after hearing those druids, I wonder if this is really such a good idea? They seemed scared out of their wits, and were reticent about why, almost as if they feared even speaking it's name would cause trouble. What was all the paranoia about?

"Can't rest, old friend?"

The Warrior loked up to see Gladia. "Not a bit. You?"

"Can't get sleep. Because of the climate and...what happened out in the desert. I can't seem to get it out of my head."

"I hear that. This whole place...somehow, it feels wrong. Just plain wrong. I can't figure out what, but there's something seriously off about this place. And the authority around here is more closemouthed than a goblin's coin-purse. It doesn't make any sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

The Warrior told her what he knew. After he finished, the mage lowered her head in thought. "I've heard he exact same thing." She said finally. "Most of the chaps here who have some connection to otherwordly spirits have given the same answers. As for the druids, I think I know why they're unwilling to use the gift of the gab."

"Well?"

"You know of something called the Emerald Dream, right?"

The Warrior nodded. "Yeah. Sort of. When druids sleep, they go into that...plane of existence. They can see stuff that wouldn't normally be known of, since Azeroth has been touched by mortal inventions...stuff like that. So what?"

"I can't exactly put it in words, but theres something...something really bad, that's intruding into their dreams. Not the Emerald Nightmare everybody knows of. This one seems to be creeping in at random, but especially here in Silithus. I managed to get it out of a Night Elf Druid who was a bit smashed on grog - he was a bit more talkative than the rest."

"What's this random thing then?"

"His term was 'A Shadow across The Dream of Maddend Whispers'. I have no fel-damned idea what he meant, but from what you've told me and some piecing together, I figure there's something whispering to them...something that can put thoughts in your mind. And it occurs without their consent. Plus, it's probably bad enough for them to get the heebie-jeebies about it."

Well, that sounded fairly reasonable. If something started talking to you all of a sudden when you're awake or asleep, and if it's in your head, no wonder why they were so offed when the Warrior asked them about it...wait.

"I think I can put a name to whatever's talking to them." said the Warrior.

"This C'Thun chap?" She asked, skeptically. "You're not seriously buying into some superstitious crap about these Old Gods and stuff, are you?"

"What...well, perhaps, yes. But think about it. That tauren, Bor, he was the only chap who was willing to even speak of it. And if you look at how the druids and everyone else is describing it, it makes sense - somewhat anyway. It's not a he, not a she. An it." He paused a bit, before saying, "This is something that sounds like really, really bad news. I wonder if coming here was actually worth it - worth the gold they're putting out anyway." With that the Warrior lapsed into thought. If it's as bad as it looks, what might happen...

_You...will...die._

_Your friends...will...abandon you._

_There is...no...hope._

_You are weak...foolish...blind...struggling in my grasp already._

The Warrior recoiled. "Sacred Feth...did you hear that?"

Gladia looked at him quizzically. 'What?" Then her face also seemed to contort. "Did you just say something?" She asked nervously.

"I said nothing. Absolutely fething nothing."

"Don't screw with my head...I have too much to think about already!"

"I'm not saying anything, I swear!"

_It's all fun and games...until someone loses an eye..._

Both of them seemed to realise what was happening at the same time. And they bolted down the point as fast as they could, terror driving them. And they didn't stop until they reached the relative safety of their quarters.

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><p>When they both burst into the room they were staying in, they were both out of breath, and their faces pale as death. The trace of that horror they'd felt was still visible on their visages.<p>

Kyras, who was sitting on the floor polishing his armor, looked up in surprise. "By the Naaru, what's gotten into you two?" Tarkus, who was in an armchair smoking a pipe, looked at them with a bewildered expression.

The Warrior was still panting, his thoughts a mess after what he'd...heard, or had he? Gladia simply leand against a wall, breathless and quivering. However, it was she who recovered first and spoke. "We heard...something. Something really bad."

Tarkus snorted. "Wha'? You jus' ran like crazy jes' because ye heard somethin'? Whasamater wi'ya two?"

Kyras merely held up a hand, motioning Tarkus to be quiet. "Heard what?"

However, both were too winded to talk much. After a good ten minutes of silence, both of them narrated what had happened, then told the information they'd gathered so far. It was an hour to midnight when they concluded. Kyras didn't interrupt them, merely listening, while Tarkus's face changed from intial condescension to surprise to concern and finally to a worried frown. Now he was pacing around slowly, trying to assimilate what he'd been told.

"So," Kyras finally said, "there's an Old God - whatever that is - in those ruins, and you say you heard it speak to you? Hm...can't really discount it, I'll say. I've seen stranger things happen. Did it sound malevolent particularly?"

"You have no idea, Kyras. It was like...I don't know - it was evil, pure and simple. It was like a whisper, at first, but it soon became a positive growl of malefic hate. I don't know what..." the Warrior trailed off.

Kyras merely sighed. "Well, it won't do much good fretting about it now. I'd recommend we all get some sleep, maybe we can start sorting this out tomorrow morning, when we actually will be a little clear-headed. Right now, I'm as foxed as you are."

Gladia nodded meekly and went straight to her bunk. The Warrior also followed suit. Pretty soon, the candle had been blown out and Tarkus and Kyras also retired.

In their room, there was an open window, through which a slight breeze blew, and afforded a view out over the desert. As the Warrior lay on his bunk, he looked out, wondering for the hundredth time, what was it he'd heard. He knew he wasn't going to get much sleep, as he laid and wondered what evil lay in those shifting sands.

He had no idea.


End file.
